Hooper & Holmes-The Case of Sentiment
by ChristinNicole
Summary: "So, you are telling me that you, the infamous Sherlock Holmes, are actually having feelings?" John's eyebrows arched. He could nearly feel the frostbite from how cold a glare Sherlock shot his way, "Preposterous John, what are you, 12? It's not like that with Mol-" suddenly the detective's throat went dry; he coughed, clearing his head, "Mrs.-ah, Hooper". Rated T for mild romance.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock could hear Johns footsteps reverberate up the well-worn staircase that led to 221B; one eyebrow shot up as the detective looked away from his laptop for a moment, listening. The familiar creak of the 11th step resounded as his friend approached. John was so predictable, stepping in the same spots he always had. Three, two…and . . . .

"Sherlock?"

With a one-sided, satisfied smirk, Sherlock stood up from his laptop, the lid of which he pushed shut with a finger while simultaneously snatching his suit coat from off the back of his chair. Just as John walked into the main room, Sherlock spun to face him.

John, who at first looked concerned, now sucked in a breath, clenching his jaw and looking to the side; a slight nod of his head showed that he was mildly irritated.

"And I quote, 'important. Come ASAP'." John's tone was somewhat miffed.

"Well, yes. It is important. I need to talk to you."

"Sherlock…" John looked back over at his friend, knowing that whatever he said wasn't going to make a dent in the detective's arrogant demeanor, but unable to stop himself from trying anyways, "My wife, Mary…you know Mary; she is at home, a month and a half away from having our daughter, and you beckoned me back here to 'talk'?"

Sherlock paused, trying to hide his amusement. "You would have come if I hadn't expressly asked it of you, John." He cracked a smile now, brushing past John on his way to the door, "I was simply saving you time." He grabbed his overcoat from the hook by the door.

John closed his eyes in brief annoyance…"Right…ok. What is it?" he turned to follow his friend.

"Mycroft is hosting a party and I need a plus one."

John's eyebrows shot up as he shut the door Sherlock had forgotten to, and followed down the stairs. "You are attending a party, one that has living people?"

Sherlock huffed, "Not willingly."

"Yeah I know that bit, but you…"

Sherlock stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to John; his eyebrows rose expectantly, waiting for John to finish dissecting the aforesaid statement.

"…actually going to a party?"

Sherlock rushed out his answer, "That is what I said isn't it?"

They resumed walking, following the familiar path down the hallway, out the door of the building and out onto the sidewalk of Baker Street.

While Sherlock was hailing a cab, John finally came with an answer. "I-I can't. I've got to be with Mary tonight; she has been feeling a bit ill lately and we are staying in to watch telly."

Sherlock's arm dropped out of the air; he completely ignored the cab as it came to a stop next to him.

"What?"

"Crap telly." John reiterated, "Mary and I are going to spend our evening together watching crap telly and eating Tv dinners."

Sherlock frowned at John's sarcasm.

The cabbie, who had been waiting for his apparent customer to climb in, rolled down the window and demanded an explanation, "You getting in or not?"

Sherlock paid him no attention, shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his coat indignantly, "Well, who am I supposed to take with me then, Gavin?"

"Greg." John made no hesitation in his correction. "Sure, invite Lestrade. You don't have a current case, so obviously he doesn't."

The cabbie piped up in impatience, "Hey! Do you need a ride or not?"

Sherlock shifted his attention to the man, "Bart's Hospital." He retorted, "make it quick."


	2. Chapter 2

"No mum, I don't! It didn't work out with Tom because it just didn't, alright? What I need right now is some peace and quiet." Molly made a face, her nose crinkling as she reached for a tissue to wipe the coagulated blood off the receiver of her mobile.

"Molls, what was that sound?" her mother's harsh voice poured from the speaker.

"Nothing, mum…just brushing some dirt off my phone," her tone softened a bit, "look, I'll phone you later ok? I have a lot of work to do and I need to focus. I promise I'll look out for myself and I'll try to see your side in all this, alright?"

No response.

"Okay, Love you. Bye."

She turned back to the current corpse that she was running an autopsy on today, "Sorry David…that was mum." She rolled her eyes, shoving aside one of the cadaver's kidneys rather roughly with a long pair of forceps. Molly started to mutter to the dead man, "She seems to think I need a man in my life…which is…is…" she struggled to find an appropriate word to describe her feelings on the subject, but couldn't. She settled for the ever present lie instead. "…is preposterous! I've gotten by in the past right?"

No response.

"Right." She answered her own question, moving to get a closer look at David's kidney, but found that her instrument was stuck.

She rolled her eyes, "Not this…not now…" She yanked on the forceps….no luck. She tried again…nothing.

Molly sighed; why did everything always have to happen to her? This morning she had slept through her alarm, only able to run her fingers through her hair and throw on an old jumper before rushing out of her flat to make it to the morgue in time for her shift. Her coffee had been burnt, and she was swamped with work. She realized on her lunch break that she had left nothing out for her cat Toby that morning, and had to rush back home to set out some milk for him and try and soothe his miffed attitude. When she returned to the hospital, a rude coworker had told her she looked tired and asked if she was "feeling alright", which was just the cherry on top of the towering cake of things she wanted to hear that day. Now, on top of her mother's constant badgering over her fiancé, she had to deal with this…

Molly paused;" no, former fiancé, remember Molly?" she admonished herself.

She tugged on the tools again, grimacing at the way the corpse lurched a little.

"Sorry David," She apologized. Then, because she had been having an awful day, and she simply couldn't hold it in anymore, Molly started to rant, turning all her anger on the corpse.

"You know what? I'm not sorry, actually!" her voice got tight as she threw her mobile into the pocket of her lab coat and used both hands to tug on the forceps, "I don't need a man to be happy! What does mum know? Look at me! I'm happy!"

That was another lie.

"I've got a great job…good friends…a diamond ring I don't wear anymore; I've got a cat who is upset at me, AND…"

Molly thought she felt the forceps loosen, "And I've got YOU!" At that moment the stubborn instrument finally let loose, but not without taking a bit of kidney with it and spitting blood onto the front of her lab coat. A small clot of the gooey stuff hit her safety googles.

"Argh!" she exclaimed, dropping the forceps back down on top of David's corpse. She turned, stripping off her soiled latex gloves, only to stop with one glove removed as she gazed at the still stone statue that was Sherlock standing next to her.

He looked as dashing as always, dressed in his usual attire, complete with his scarf and coat, except for the startled and slightly irritated look splayed over his features. His lips were barely parted, as if he were about to say something, but some higher being had decided to hit pause on him with a television remote.

Molly heard herself gasp when she realized why.

A fleck of the same goo that decorated her coat and googles was hanging off his bottom lip and splattered over his left cheek.

"Oh my gosh, hold on!"

Molly finished taking off her gloves, plunging her hands into the sink and cleaning them quickly for good measure. Then she grabbed a tissue and rushed back over to the detective. Without thinking, she reached up and wiped the goo from his lip.

Startled, Sherlock flinched a bit, and Molly suddenly realized what she was doing. She dropped the tissue just as his hand reached to grasp it.

"Sorry, here…." She shook her head and backed up a few steps.

Sherlock, being who he is, wasn't fazed for long. He quickly brushed past Molly without a word and finished cleaning the flecks of "David" off his face.

"Good evening to you too, Miss Hooper," his tone was sarcastic.

" I didn't see you come in."

Sherlock disposed of the now wad off tissue and turned to face her again, walking back over so he could stand across from her, "No. You did not."

She hesitated, wondering what to say next. "Are you in to do some work?"

"No."

"Ok."

"I was actually going to tell you that Mycroft is holding a party, John is busy with Mary, and my dear brother has mandated I do not go alone. "

Molly's mouth fell open, "What?"

The detective tugged on his coat and readjusted his scarf and turned to leave, calling back to Molly, "It's fancy so wear that dress you wear."

Again, "What?"

Molly couldn't see but Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You know…the red one."

"I don't have a…"

"The color of your lips…"

Her eyes widened, realizing he meant the black dress she had worn that Christmas night a few years ago at his flat, the one she didn't think he had noticed. Well, he didn't really; the dress was black not red, that was the wrapping paper. She blanched a bit at the unpleasant memory.

"But…" Molly didn't have time to interject; he was already out the door. She stood dumbfounded where he had left her, blood still sticking to her clothes. Surely he didn't mean a party now, did he?

In response, her phone buzzed. It was a txt from him.

ILL SEND A CAB TO YOUR FLAT. BE READY IN A HALF HOUR.

-SH

Authors Note: Hello lovelies! If you are still reading this, that is wonderful. Thank you. I plan on making this a pretty long story, but the chapters might be more medium/short sized. Sorry about that, if you like long chapters. Please, if you like this...keep reading. Have a wonderful day, thanks!


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